Trust.

So at this point, I have been in India for a little bit over half of my total trip.  I have done/eaten/ pooped some very memorable experiences, and I have made some great friends whose wanderlust matches my own.   The past few days I have spent volunteering at an after school program in one of the biggest slums in India, helping kids with their English.  I have worked with kids before, and I have worked with lots of poor children, but their is something about being here that gives this experience such a different flavor.  Instead of the cat and the hat, I am reading them books about little boys who visit buddhist temples and get their shoes stolen by monkeys, or picky eater little girls who wont touch the delicious masala dosa their mother's made. Lots of the girls in my class are muslim, and to watch them be so happy and normal with their classmates, would really be an eye opening experience for some people in the states. India is amazing   The power goes out occasionally, the shower never has hot water, and yes, I have seen my lifetime supply of dead dogs, but all in all, I am very, very blessed to be here.

So why am I so anxious?

Ever since I have been here, I have experienced the occasional muscle pain in my hands.  A variety of symptoms from blurred vision to general lethargy have bothered me all of my trip.  When this started, my brain skipped the ignore and it will go away phase, and went strait to the bane of all sane living, Web MD.  I think there was one night where I  had myself convinced that I had multiple scholorosis and a brain tumor, all tied together by a neat little case of diabetes.  Last week, I went to a neurologist. Indian doctors have a fantastic reputation as a whole, because it is about a hundred times harder to be a doctor here than at home.  Also, again, he is a neurologist which means he specializes in exactly the kind of problems that have been bothering me.  I was terrified the night before my appointment, so I addedd sleeplessness and irritability to my growing list of symptoms.  When I walked into his office, I was l waiting for the axe to fall.  He did a through physical and mental examination of me, then asked when my symptoms started, which was about two days before I left for India.  He did a few more test, than sat me down, looked me in the eye and explained that the cause of all my symptoms was me- I was literally stressing and worrying myself into being sick.  He gave me a few pills to help with my circulation, then sent me on my way.

For anyone familar with my family medical tree, it doesn't take a genius to see why my brain is so worse case scenario.  Instead of the normal youth reaction of, "it never will happen to me," my subconscious is quietly marking every scrape cough and shake down to some horrible ailment.  Add to my higher than normal level of anxiety another country that, however amazing it is, still doesn't quite grasp the concept of toilet paper, and it's pretty clear how I psyched myself into a box.

For the week that I took the pills, I had virtually no problems- yet I kept expecting to.  Every movement of my hands was accompanied by the fear that there would be a painful tingle, even though there never was. I was fearful of fear,and I worried so much that I feel like I haven't enjoyed parts of this experience as much as I could of.

Today I went for my checkup, and even though everything was going well, I just started to cry.  He was going to look at me and see something he had missed, some new symptom that would ruin my life. I just started thinking about everything I have worked for, all my amazing friends both here and home, and all the relationships and opportunities I can't even dream of- all being taken away.
Mrs.Florence, who I can only describe as my USAC Indian mommy, took me to lay down in one of the rooms of the clinic  and gently stoked my hair as I started blubbering about all of my fears.

"You need to trust in Jesus, child. He loves you."

When she first said that, I nodded, but inwardly I cringed.  I am a Christian, as is my family and most of my friends, but that's not how I have ever felt comfortable talking about God. It reminds me too much of all the people who would talk about how great and merciful God's plan was, when my sister and not theirs was dying.   I am a religious studies scholar, which means I can tell you what Jews or Hindus or Muslims thinks about God's will, but I can get very uncomfortable when confronted with a real life real God situation.

But their was something about how Mrs. Florence said this, that for once, spoke to me.  Talking to her about her struggles in life and faith actually touched rather than pissed me off, and she gently made me see how silly I was being.  It's not that nothing bad will ever happen to me ever again in my entire life- but I can't spend that life worrying about things that might not even happen.  I am too young to worry so much, and if I could tap into even the smallest part of her faith, what a difference that would be. I tend to see myself as being really wise, and worldly and mature- with my five year plan and huffington post subscription.  But in the grand scheme of things, I am not, and at some point my academic God needs to be given the room needed for faith.  I can't know everything, and without trust a million second opinions from a hundred doctors is never going to take away my stress.  I need to, honestly, have some faith and quit being scared.  God did not create me to be afraid, so I need to stop harming myself with my own doubts.

I need to trust in Jesus. I am a child.  And, I am loved.


(P.S, the doctor said I am doing just fine:)